Gemotions

The afternoon light cast long shadows across the living room, a reminder of the slow passage of time. John felt like he was wading through molasses. Each task, each conversation, required a monumental effort. He leaned heavily against the kitchen counter, trying to summon the energy to make coffee. His wife, Emily, was supposed to be helping him.

He heard the distinct ring of a phone, followed by Emily's rushed footsteps towards the back room. The door shut softly. He found himself standing, rooted in place, listening. He heard her low murmuring.

When she emerged, her cheeks were flushed. Her smile was too bright, too forced. He knew that smile. The hollowness it masked was familiar. He felt an unwelcome coldness settle over him, heavy and unyielding.